AIt’s all a question of energy, “positive or negative,” says Marina Fliri. “You find out very quickly who is sitting on the coach box. And depending on what happens, they take command.” They are two powerful Ardenner horses: Aragon, a gray gelding, and the mare Donna, a dark chestnut, muscular, broad-shouldered, with shaggy winter fur, they defy the cold. The Ardennes were just munching a snack from the feed sack. Now the young woman takes a seat on the box. She wears thick gloves, fur-lined boots on her feet, and the hood of her expedition jacket hangs low over her eyes. “Rrr rrr!” says Marina Fliri, at the same time slightly pulling the reins.
The horses brace themselves against the drawbars, the vehicle jerks, and Aragon and Donna maneuver the sled in reverse onto the snow-covered road. We sit in the wagonette, wrapped up to the nose in woolen blankets with sheepskins on top. Our luggage is deposited on a second bench. “Ho, ho!” Raising the whip, Fliri orders the horses to start. Accompanied by the jingling of the bell on the dishes, we float into the snow-covered Val Roseg.
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